


And Stones In His Pockets

by unbelievable2



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen, Sentinel Thursday Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 04:36:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3433799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unbelievable2/pseuds/unbelievable2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Look on the bright side, Jim,” rejoined the first man, still grinning wryly. “If it weren’t for the drought, we wouldn’t have found this body for you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Stones In His Pockets

**Author's Note:**

> A response to Sentinel Thursday Challenge #521 - "drought"

There were a lot of vehicles there already when Major Crimes pulled up. Water Authority trucks; two cars from Homicide; the patrol car that got the first call. Their occupants were all down on the foreshore in a tight little huddle, staring out at a shapeless lump on the dry floor of the reservoir. An ambulance was there as well, with its paramedics lounging around, sitting bored on its tailgate, griping in the heat.

 

Jim switched off the engine. The pounding heat that had been bearable whilst the truck had powered its too-fast way along the country roads, windows wide open, now reasserted itself with a vengeance. Blair opened the passenger door and slipped outside; Jim heard his “oof!” as he met hot air.

 

He got out himself and stretched. It seemed difficult to draw breath in these furnace-like temperatures. As he gazed around he felt the sweat beading out all over his skin again. Blair was readjusting his hair-tie and holding his curls high off the back of his neck in a vain attempt to catch the slightest air current. Jim smirked; Blair wouldn’t get far with that hopeless task – the air felt like it came straight from an oven.

 

“You know,” said his partner, as they started down the rocky track to the foreshore, “I still maintain we’ve been abducted.”

 

Jim lifted his arm in greeting to one of the figures in the group who had just given a cheerful wave and had started towards them. 

 

“Abducted, Chief?” he asked absently, now scanning the foreshore and out towards the dam. It was strange to see a reservoir holding nothing but a few puddles, with the dam wall pointlessly high above them.

 

“Well, yeah! I mean, is this Washington State? A dry reservoir, this heat, this heat for days and days and days…? You talking about buying sandals? I’m telling you, I’m gonna be giving away my flannel shirts to needy Inuits very soon.”

 

Jim snorted.

 

“Don’t do anything hasty, Sandburg. I predict when this spell breaks, we’ll wish we never complained about a few sunny days.”

 

“A few sunny days?” grumbled Blair. “Look, it’s even evaporated a reservoir! A reservoir! You know this is Global Warming, don’t you? You know we’ve all done this – messed up the world’s weather…”

 

“Sure seems nice and warm to me, Sandburg.”

 

Jim speeded up, in part to avoid the lecture, and in part to greet the two men who had separated themselves from the group and were walking towards them.

 

“Jim!” called the man who had first waved - a tall, nondescript guy in sunglasses, and with a pleasant smile. “Thanks for coming out. This is Dave Carlton, he’s the manager of the reservoir.”

 

Jim shook hands with Carlton, who looked harassed; as well he might, as a water authority operative dealing with a muddy pool where a reservoir once stood.

 

“I know these temperatures have been exceptional, Mr Carlton,” Jim began, genuinely intrigued by the situation in front of them, “but I didn’t expect to see no water at all. Are we going to face this with our other reservoirs?”

 

“Oh, no!” Dave Carlton was shaking his head vigorously. “Or at least I certainly hope not – and don’t think so, in fact. Most of the time the water-feeds to our reservoirs come from strong rivers that are boosted by snow-melt, and we don’t need worry about those sources. This one is a little different. It’s an old structure, and the dam’s been leaking quietly for some time. It’s only a little reservoir, compared to the rest of our stock, built for farmers in the fifties, and the water sources can be a bit variable. So the combination of all these factors means that this one has dried out quicker than we would have liked.”

 

“Look on the bright side, Jim,” rejoined the first man, still grinning wryly. “If it weren’t for the drought, we wouldn’t have found this body for you.”

 

Jim gave him a black look.

 

“And much as we like to assist Homicide at any time, Jackson, what exactly is it that made you think of Sandburg and me, hauling us out of our nice air-conditioned office?”

 

“How the body got there, of course,” replied Jackson amiably. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

 

The little crowd parted to let them through – the patrolmen and the other Homicide detectives eyeing the newcomers guardedly. Jim didn’t deign to respond; he knew the territoriality associated with crime scenes, and the annoyance of giving up a case to another department, Hell, he didn’t even want this one – way out of Cascade, way off his usual turf and an unnecessary distraction when gang activity, and gang tempers, were being fuelled by the hot weather. He heard Blair clear his throat.

 

“Ah, have Forensics been here yet?”

 

Jim realised that this was the first thing Blair had said since he had been bitching about the weather. He threw a glance at his partner, but Blair’s face was unreadable behind his dark glasses.

 

“Nah, they phoned a while ago to say they were on their way,” replied Jackson. “But they’re short-staffed right now, what with the holiday period.”

 

“Lucky them,” muttered Jim. He stopped as they reached the body and stared down at the shapeless form in front of them. There was a tarp over it, and Carlton, as if reading his mind, broke in hurriedly.

 

“I put that on there, when I saw the body first thing this morning. I guess it’s been exposed for a couple of days now, with the water receding gradually, and – well – it’s hot, and there are a lot of flies around, and – well, you know - the guy should have a little dignity….”

 

He tailed off, looking uncertain. Jim gave him a nod.

 

“Thank you, Mr Carlton. It’s helped preserve the remains for forensic testing.” Carlton visibly relaxed, and Jim bent to lift off the tarp, dialling down his sense of smell as he did so. Carlton and Jackson took a reflexive step back as he exposed the rotting, jellied, bloated mess that had been a human being. By chance the corpse had come to rest on its back, and Jim could see that the hands had been forced high on the chest of the man - for man it seemed to be, given the general height and build, and what remained of the clothing – and the wrists had been bound. He heard Blair take a sharp breath behind him, but was conscious that his partner stayed firmly by his side. After a moment, Blair crouched down.

 

“Anything out of the ordinary, Jim? I mean, I can see he was bound. But can you see whether… ah… whether he might have been dead before he hit the water?”

 

Jackson moved forward again.

 

“Ah, yeah, that’s what I wondered, too,” he offered.

 

Jim pulled a ballpoint pen from his jacket and gingerly lifted some flaps of skin around the head. No sign of a ligature around the throat, but whether there had been gunshots or stabbing, it was hard to tell, even for him. He was annoyed – there was little here for Major Crimes to be interested in, not at this stage. Homicide were yanking their chain.

 

“Tough to say, Chief. I guess we need to wait for Serena to get him back to base.” He straightened up. “Mr Carlton, I suppose anyone could have accessed this place, brought a boat out?”

 

“Pretty much,” replied Jackson, still staring at the body with morbid fascination. “It’s an isolated spot, and we don’t usually have much trouble with vandalism, or kids swimming and diving off the dam, like they try at some other sites.”

 

“I reckon he’s been there a couple of weeks. What do you say?” asked Jackson.

 

“Could be,” replied Jim, still thinking about the body – the position of the hands was strange. He was conscious of Blair staring fixedly down at it. “Any thoughts, Chief?”

 

“The exposure to the weather at the surface and the high temperature might mean it’s been more recent,” said Blair. “As he’s been tied up, it’s pretty clearly homicide. But why Major Crimes?”

 

Jackson looked a little ruffled at the question.

 

“Well, we remembered the Holloway case – the witness who vanished. You were working on that, huh?”

 

“So?” Blair’s voice was hard. Jim looked at him quickly, understanding the barb behind Jackson’s remark. And something else as well….

 

“Probably best to wait for Serena” he said, wondering vaguely why he was being the peacemaker here. But Blair just drove straight over his words.

 

“It’s because it’s weird, isn’t it?” He turned to face Jackson, taking off his dark glasses; his expression was blank, but his eyes were contemptuous. “It’s because Ellison and Sandburg do weird. Because a guy’s been found with his hands tied, and stones in his pockets, in the middle of dried-out reservoir. And it’s kind of funky and difficult, so let’s get Ellison and Sandburg on it…”

 

“Chief,” began Jim, putting out a hand, but Blair brushed him off and walked a few paces away, staring out into the heat-haze over the mud. Jim looked quickly at the body. Stones in his pockets; caught up in his own irritation at time being wasted, he’d failed to notice the way the remains of the jacket bulged as they lay on the dirt, but Blair had seen it. What else had Blair seen - had been looking for, even?

 

“Ellison, it was a genuine call-out…” began Jackson, about to demonstrate the umbrage he was going to take. Jim waved him away

 

“He’s got a point, hasn’t he, Frank? All right, you asked us, so let me have proper look at this, and we’ll talk to Serena. If we don’t find anything _weird_ , we’ll pass it straight back, okay?”

 

Jackson nodded, then turned on his heel and walked back towards the shoreline. Carlton ducked his head nervously, and followed him. Jim crouched down again, looking at the body, but he threw out his hearing, waiting for the conversation on the shore.

 

“Stones in his pockets,” said Jackson to the other cops. “Just what I thought. Though they’re being pissy about it, especially Sandburg. Dunno what’s got up his ass today.”

 

The other detective snorted. 

 

“Hey, without the stones, it would have “Deliverance” for real, yeah?” He guffawed, pleased with his own joke. A young patrolman’s voice cut in, quiet but determined.

 

“You remember Sandburg was almost drowned last year. Forced into the water by a perp. He almost died.”

 

“Meaning what, Conrad?” snapped the other detective, bristling.

 

“Just that there may be a reason he’s… ah ... reacting the way he did. Detective,” Conrad finished uncertainly, clearly unsettled by the antagonism of the senior cops. Jim made a mental note for some gesture of gratitude later; because, dammit, Conrad had seen it where Jim had failed. He was failing at a lot of things today, not using his brain properly.

 

He stared hard at the corpse again. Something about the arms, the way the jacket was lying, as if it had been… yeah, that was it. The sleeves had been sliced open. Why do that? He concentrated his sight onto the arms and then he saw it – faint marks on the exposed bone, as if a pattern had been carved. Except that the carving would not have originated there; the bone merely reflected what had been wrought on living flesh.

 

He replaced the tarp, straightened up and went to join Blair, who was still staring doggedly out over the parched flats.

 

“What else, Chief?”

 

Blair sighed.

 

“The infuriating thing is, it _is_ weird. I just know it’s weird. It’s not a mob hit or a domestic dispute gone wrong. It’s weird. The stones, the way the hands had been bound around the chest – did you see that? It was ritualistic, I would say. Which is likely to mean that the guy would have been alive when he went in, weighted down by the stones so he couldn’t get to the surface again. Forced into the water and forced to drown.”

 

He was silent for moment. Jim closed his eyes and tried to dispel an image of a billowing jacket in a fountain, of blue skin and cold lips, and of his own nightmare-ish imaginings - because Blair had never really told the full story, not even to him – of what it had looked like, felt like, when Alex forced Blair into the water and forced him to drown. Like a ritual.

 

There are marks on the arms, Chief,” he said at last. “They go down to the bone; some kind of design. So, ritualistic - you were right.”

 

Blair turned to him and replaced his dark glasses. He smiled bleakly.

 

“Yep, weird. And weird is us, right?”

 

He started briskly back for the shoreline, and after a moment Jim followed, hurrying to catch him up.

 

_-fin-_


End file.
